Todd & Téa — The Lesson
by Tessaray
Summary: Begins on New Year's Eve, 1997, when Todd Manning sees Téa Delgado dancing at Rodi's. It stirs up more feelings than he can handle, so he decides to teach her a lesson. The rest of the story deals with the aftermath and ventures into Explicit territory in Chapter Five and beyond. AU and angsty as hell. Contains threat of rape.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** Contains threat of rape, and eventual explicit sex.

**Notes:** Features Vintage Todd, in all his glorious pre-millenium torment, as played by Roger Howarth. I came very late to the Todd/Téa party, like 15 years late, so I don't expect there's much of an audience for them anymore, but I just had to write about them. Theirs was such a beautifully conceived, written and acted story, with such deep, compassionate understanding of the mysteries of the human heart and the ways we sabotage ourselves. I think it's the best exploration of a doomed relationship I've ever seen. Love love love it.

The YouTube clip that inspired this story is entitled 'OLTL Todd & Tea 1997 part 38'. Ignore everything after 6:55; that's where this AU story picks up. Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am making no money from this story. It's a good thing I don't own Todd — I'd just sit around and play with his hair all day.

* * *

**The Lesson **

**by _Tessaray_**

Téa Delgado feels their eyes on her and it feels _good_. One drink in her to loosen things up, another to dull the memory of her so-called husband, actual conversation instead of verbal sparring, a tight, off-the-shoulder black dress that clings to her hips, and their eyes do the rest. She sways on Rodi's dance floor to a salsa beat as familiar to her as her own name, and no matter how far out Antonio spins her, she moves back into his waiting arms as though born for this.

She tells herself she's glad Todd isn't here to ring in 1998, that it was a sheer Hail Mary to have invited him in the first place. These are nice people, and Todd doesn't do nice. He doesn't do festive, or friendship or anything that could threaten his misery. So screw him. Let him mope in that lonely penthouse, surrounded by his gloom and his glorious hair. She will drink and twirl and bask in her temporary freedom and the desire of other men.

Antonio is holding her close now, staring deeply into her eyes. He knows where she comes from, knows her secrets, and they are moving together in perfect, effortless rhythm. How easy it would be to send a signal, to see him respond to her as men always had, with a flash of heat in his eyes.

Unlike Todd, he wouldn't turn away.

When the song ends and she's flushed, vibrating, wanting more, she's realizes with disgust that she misses Todd; misses the micro-expressions that play like music over his face, misses his sarcasm and grumpiness. Most of all, she misses _his_ eyes on her, in those moments when he can't quite hide what he's feeling.

_Ay Dios mio, Delgado,_ she thinks. _You're pathetic._

So when Nora Gannon tells her that Todd had, in fact, been there watching her little performance and had stormed out the back, her heart both leaps and sinks.

…...

Todd Manning paces in the alley behind Rodi's, hands fisted in his coat pockets. Nora Gannon saw him inside and, because she can't keep her big mouth shut, she'll tell Delgado. If he knows his Delgado, and he's starting to, she'll come after him. He could just go home and watch that Jerry Lewis film festival, tell Delgado he was in all night, that Nora must have been drunk and hallucinating. But Delgado won't let it go. She never lets anything go.

Neither does he.

So he waits.

He stamps his feet as an icy wind lashes his long hair across his cheeks. He should be cold, but recent images of his wife—pawing another man, her hips swaying sensually—are keeping a fire banked low in his belly. He's doesn't know why he'd even come here, why he'd grabbed his coat and keys before thinking it through. But when has he ever thought anything through? Like this damned marriage; it got him custody of Shorty but it's starting to cost more than he's willing to pay. He is trying, though, trying to do what Delgado wants, trying to make this marriage mostly real.

So he'd come. And found her making a spectacle of herself in the center of that ring of drooling idiots...she may as well have been pole dancing, the way they were all ogling her. He feels a stab of jealousy but shoves it away.

They made a _deal_. It's right there in the contract: she's supposed to act married in public and not embarrass him. If the five million bucks he's paying her isn't enough to make her behave, then what the hell is? He feels the familiar constriction, the heat, the rage, boiling in his gut, blurring the edges of this thoughts.

She was smiling at Antonio, a private smile he's never seen, looking into his eyes, practically rubbing herself against his crotch. The heat rushes to Todd's throat, forcing a strangled roar and before he can stop himself, his fist shoots out, connects with the side of a wooden crate, smashing it to splinters. He grabs the wrecked thing, throws it across the alley where it lands with a crash that seems to satisfy him. He turns on his heels, rakes his hands through his hair with a frustrated groan.

_Delgado..._

_**…...**_

Instinctively, Téa grabs her coat and heads for the back door to follow Todd. She is faintly surprised that she hadn't picked up on his presence in Rodi's, as hyper-aware of him as she's become lately. He acts on her like ozone before an approaching storm, prickling the back of her neck, heightening her senses.

'Su esposo loco?' Antonio says, leaning on the bar, watching her. 'Why do you have to go running after him?'

'Cuidado, Antonio.'

'No, _you_ be careful, mija. Nora said he looked very pissed. He doesn't like you dancing with other men, why doesn't he cut in, stake his claim?'

'Todd is...,' she searches for the right word.

'Twisted?'

That hurts her. She knows it's the general consensus, has heard it often enough and even once believed it herself. But now...

'He's unique, Antonio.'

'Seguro!'

'Look, I'm not going to stand here and defend my husband, or my choices, to you.'

'Whatever, mija. He doesn't deserve you, ya tu sabes.' He turns and heads back toward the music, gesturing for her to follow him.

She should. She should leave Todd to his brooding, stop riding to his rescue and getting insulted, ignored or thrown out of windows for her trouble. And her reward? A small fortune and a daily migraine.

But he'd come tonight. It was a baby step in the right direction. And he had seen her, flaunting herself and open to...other possibilities. She starts to pull on her coat, but stops herself, dismissing an overwhelming surge of guilt. Antonio was right. Todd saw her dancing with another man. So what? He's made it repeatedly and painfully clear that he doesn't want her, so time to stop wasting emotional energy on him.

She'll down another drink, get back on that dance floor and go where the night takes her. That's what she'll do.

Or not.

**…...**

_If she would just lock her damn door_, Todd thinks, rubbing his bruised knuckles. It's the light blue robe that attracts him the most, the silky thing that moves over her body like water, tied with a fragile knot at the waist, so easy to undo, so easy to slip open, to run his hands up her thighs...

In the shower, in his bed, he thinks these things. Before she moved in, he had a nightly, boring ritual—get off just to ease the pressure. But now he has fantasies, of taking her in the shower, in the kitchen, from behind, dominating her, forcing her to—

But no. He can't allow himself to think that way anymore, to give into the darker impulses of degradation and abuse, as seductive as those impulses can be. So he wrenches his mind in the direction of gentler things, 'healthy' things involving her mouth, his cock and that blue robe...it takes longer, but still works, eventually.

Of course, he can't ask her to lock her door because she'll want to know why and start inferring all kinds of shit and it'll be a big thing because that's how she operates. She'll look at him all full of hope and desire, maybe even touch his cheek like she did that doomed night at the Bayberry Inn, making him feel things he has no business feeling, want things...

She might even tell him again that she _trusts_ him and then it'll take everything he has not to smack her, because Delgado is a brilliant woman and to trust him is just idiotic.

He had rejected her that night, bullied her to make her understand what he is. Maybe he was cruel. Whatever—it worked. She backed off.

Moved on.

With Antonio fucking Vega.

That was obvious to anyone in Rodi's with eyes. Her skin was flushed, glistening with perspiration, her lips were parted and inviting, her hips—God, the way her hips moved. He wanted to...

But none of it was for him. Not a bit of it, and it's his own doing. He made the mistake of marrying a passionate, sensual woman. She's hot and she's horny and if she can't get it from him, she'll get it somewhere else. He feels the rage boiling again, hopes the first person out the door will be Antonio so he can break his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Téa pushes through the back door and into an alley lit by nothing but a glowing red 'Rodi's' sign. Dumpsters, empty liquor crates and other bar detritus crowd the narrow space and she pauses, thinking better of her plan to go after Todd, when a powerfully-built figure with hunched shoulders separates itself from the shadows. Téa gasps and freezes.

Todd is pleased by her fear. Ordinarily, he'd hate himself for that, but he's never seen it before, even when Blair shoved her out that window, and he knows it will evaporate the second she realizes it's him. Besides, he's angry. He even briefly considers drawing out the moment, but since it _is_ New Year's Eve...

'Delgado.' It comes out as a snarl. His face is impassive and, in the red glow of the sign, his scar looks radioactive.

'_Coño,_ Todd!' Téa's shoulders sag with relief. She hugs her coat around her. 'I was just coming to find you. Why are you lurking out here?'

'I'm not lurking, Delgado. I'm waiting. For you and your _lawyer_.' He stuffs his fists into his pockets, his long hair and overcoat whip in the wind. 'Where is Señor Twinkle-toes, anyway?'

Téa sighs heavily. 'I knew you'd be like this, Todd. Antonio Vega and I are not involved.'

Her voice is hoarse from a recent cold, about an octave lower than usual, and he finds it sexy as hell. And the way she says Vega's name, with that Spanish accent...she's getting to him and he resents it.

'Save it for someone stupid, wife.' He takes a step toward her.

She doesn't retreat. She feels it again, the buzz in the air that accompanies his presence, and hugs herself. 'Look, Todd, it's freezing out here. Why don't we go back inside and—'

'So tell me, Delgado,' he says conversationally, tilting his head and sweeping his eyes up her body. 'Did that turn you on, gyrating for a roomful of horny lawyers?' His tone is quiet, light, barely audible above the whistle of the wind, but contains a distinct edge of malice.

Téa clears her throat and delicately tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She won't play in his sandbox tonight.

'Actually, I'd say that fewer than half of them are lawyers, Todd. Let's see, you know Bo, Jessica—'

He scowls, hates when she derails him. 'You know what I mean, Delgado.'

'I don't know that I do, Todd.'

He advances on her slowly, stopping only when they're standing toe to toe. She's beautiful, defiant, her usually perfect hair is wind-blown, tousled, the way it might look after a night of rough sex. The effect isn't lost on him, and his anger is transforming into something he refuses to feel.

'I mean,' he says quietly, choosing his words for maximum impact. 'Did it turn you on...to know that every...single...guy...in that place wanted to _fuck_ you?'

Téa's mouth drops open, but she closes it just as quickly when she sees his look of triumph. For all his foul manners, and even fouler moods, he has never used that word in her presence. But she likes the way it echoes in her ear, likes the way his lips seemed to taste it before giving it voice. And she likes that the thought occurred to him.

'Well, Todd,' she says, tilting her chin down and looking up at him through her lashes. '_You_ were in that room. Are you saying—'

He stiffens and his eyes widen in a familiar expression of panic. This is where he usually ducks his head, steps back, gets angry, accuses her of something ludicrous.

Instead, he stands his ground. Part of him aches to say, _yes, yes, I want the same thing they want, to be with you, to be inside you, to make you tremble and scream and beg..._

Their bodies are close and their breath mingles, crystalizing between them in the cold. His eyes flash red in the light, his lips part and for one surreal, delirious moment it seems that he will kiss her.

And he wants to, wants to sink into the warmth of her mouth. He watches her face soften, her lips part. God, those lips...so simple, to just lean down, change their world forever. And then he sees something in her face that makes his stomach turn.

Trust. She still _trusts_ him.

Fuck her.

Her features shift in confusion as he pulls back.

And now she's embarrassed. He decides that tonight, her embarrassment is almost as good as her fear. Almost.

He tilts his head, regards her, then smiles down at her malevolently. 'What do you know about this alley, Delgado?'

She hugs herself tighter, trying to regain her composure, and looks around. 'Well, it's cold, it's filthy—'

'It's lousy with ghosts.'

Her eyes snap to his. He is so close that she can feel his breath on her face. He looks...eager.

He raises his hand and slowly traces his scar with the middle finger of his right hand. She's primed from the near-kiss, flush with adrenaline, and she shivers as she feels the ghost of his touch on her own body.

'It's where I got this,' he says.

He sees awareness flash in her eyes.

'This is where you tried to—'

'To rape Marty. Again. I would have taken a crack at Luna, too, but she found this steel pipe, see, and—'

Téa feels a cold thrill of dread, but refuses to show it, refuses to retreat. She squares her shoulders. 'Todd, that was in the past.'

He heaves a sigh that ruffles her hair. Her stubbornness got him custody of Shorty, but that's one trait of hers that needs an off switch.

'You know me so well, right Delgado? Bet you don't know this. After I found out Blair lied about being knocked up with my kid so she could get her hands on my money, do you know what I did?'

Téa braces herself for what she fears is coming.

'I tried to rape her. My own _wife_. See, she made the mistake of trusting me, too.'

The breath rushes from Téa's lungs and she's overcome by a chill that has nothing to do with the air. He looks satisfied and takes a step back.

'I came here afterwards, so wasted I could hardly see straight,' he says, 'And guess who shows up? Saint Marty effing Saybrooke. She actually tried to help me. Why? Because she _forgave_ me. And Rebecca _forgave_ me. And Blair _forgave_ me. What is it with you women—are you all masochists? Can't you see I'm rotten to the core?' He leans an elbow on the dumpster as though he's posing. It suddenly occurs to Téa that this all has a rehearsed air about it.

'I gotta hand it to Nora Gannon. At least she has the sense to know I'm shit and the balls to tell me to my face.'

Téa studies him for a moment.

'You said you _tried_ to rape Blair?'

He stares at her in disbelief. 'That's what you latch onto? I said that, like, twenty-minutes ago and there was a whole great speech afterward.'

'I'm a lawyer. I pay attention to inconsistencies.'

'Whatever. It doesn't matter, Delgado.' He shifts his weight, hugs himself against the cold.

'So, what, she stopped you, someone else stopped you—'

'It doesn't matter, Delgado!' He turns away, growling under his breath.

'Well, obviously if you said you_ tried_, that means—'

'_I_ stopped me, okay?' He shouts. 'But I _wanted_ to, Delgado! Don't you see? I _wanted_ to, I was _going_ to, and that's just as bad.'

He collapses against the dumpster as though consigned to hell.

'So...Q.E.D.,' she says.

He looks at her like she just projectile vomited.

'Quod erat demonstrandum. It's a Latin phrase—'

'I get _that_—'

'—that means, in essence, that you think you've proven your point—'

'Oh, God, Delgado, don't get all—' He shoves away from the dumpster and begins to pace, running his hands through his hair.

'—but you haven't, Todd. I think you've been using that 'just as bad' argument for a long time, but it's not true. I've wanted to murder people—you, for example—'

'Just shut up, Delgado.'

'—but the thought doesn't make us guilty of the deed. The fact that you—'

'_Shut up_, Delgado!'

'No, I won't shut up, Todd! Please, you need to understand this. You hate who you think you are—'

As she warms to her argument, he throws his hands in the air and turns on his heel.

'You're convinced that you're a monster, so you're unwilling to consider any evidence to the contrary—Todd! Don't walk away from me!'

She watches him disappear into the shadows at the far end of the alley.

'Dammit, I _hate_ that!' She yells after him. 'Todd!'

She doesn't actually expect a response, but she mutters to herself in frustration and outrage, as though the jury has just gotten up en masse and walked out during her closing argument.

'Todd!'

For the hundredth time tonight, she wonders why the hell she's bothering with him. He's right; she must be a masochist, like all the other women who thought they saw something worthwhile in him, only to be betrayed. Well, that's it. She's getting out before that happens. She'll go back inside, forget all about him and enjoy the warmth of music and friendship. Then make a few New Year's resolutions involving self-respect.

Or not.


	3. Chapter 3

'Todd!' Téa moves cautiously down the dark alley behind Rodi's, the wind howling at her back.

'Answer me!'

As she steps forward, beyond the red glow of the sign and deeper into the shadows, a sudden gust nearly knocks her off her heels. She grabs for the brick wall to steady herself.

'Todd?' Her voice is less sure now. Things creak and groan on either side of her and her path is lit only by a thin sliver of moonlight. She doesn't know where this alley leads, and she suddenly feels vulnerable in her thin party dress, inadequate coat and towering shoes.

She flashes on Marty, nearly raped in this same alley. She doesn't want to imagine the terror, the helplessness Marty must have felt. At the hands of Todd.

She has never been able reconcile that man with the man she knows. Haunted, wounded, larger than life—

But what he told her about Blair...

Téa stops dead in her tracks. She can't do this tonight, not tonight, not in this alley. A new year is looming, with all the promise and uncertainty that brings, and her own certainties suddenly seem very shaky. She hugs herself tight against the darkness and bone-chilling cold. Even the elements seem to be conspiring against her, and she feels frail, mortal and not at all equipped to deal with the elemental force that is Todd.

She thinks of Antonio, warm and safe, sexy and familiar, only steps away inside Rodi's.

No more misery tonight; she'll leave that to her husband. She turns quickly, catches her heel and stumbles. She feels her skin prickle like a storm is approaching.

Suddenly a strong body presses against hers from behind. She cries out, but a hand clamps over her mouth, silencing her. Fueled by adrenaline, she struggles wildly against the arm sliding around her midsection, pinning her arms to her sides. She kicks, tries to puncture a foot with a stiletto, but all her efforts are evaded.

'Now _that_ was lurking,' he says into her ear.

_'Pendejo!'_ Her shout is muffled by his hand but she fights with renewed rage, squirming and biting at his palm. How _dare_ he frighten her like this?

'Behave now, behave. Don't fight me.'

He got her good, the bastard.

His breath is hot on her cheek and his hand remains clamped over her mouth. Instead of releasing her, he pulls her closer.

'Mmm, I like you like this, Delgado,' he says, his voice as icy as the wind. 'Helpless, mute. You know, you talk way too much and you think you know every goddamn thing. But you're wrong.' She feels his teeth scrape her ear. 'You need to learn to shut up when I tell you to.'

She tries to twist away, but he squeezes her tighter. 'I said, don't fight me.'

Fine, tonight it is, then. She goes slack in his arms and waits with disgust for him to let her go so she can lay into him. Another lame warning, another attempt to scare her. But she's lived with the man for five months, she's seen him with his kid, she's protected furniture from his tirades, she's corrected his atrocious table manners, for god's sake. She can handle him, and is grateful to the shot of adrenaline for reminding her of that.

'I gave you way too much control, Delgado,' he hisses. 'I let you call the shots, change the rules, make me look like a fool. Well, that's over. Right now. I'm the one in control, you got that?'

He releases her mouth so she can answer.

'Whatever you say, Todd.'

He shakes her, hard.

'Don't you laugh at me,' he snarls. 'Don't you fucking laugh at me.' She stiffens. She's heard his rage before, and this is genuine. She can feel it boiling off him like steam.

This may take some finessing. She starts to speak, to try and appease him, but he once again clamps his hand over her mouth, and his hold on her body tightens to the point of pain.

It occurs to her that this may not simply be a lame warning, after all. He's spent months carefully avoiding any physical contact; would he really choose to be this close to her unless he had another agenda? And he must know that he's hurting her. She starts to struggle again, but his grip on her is absolute.

He grinds his hips against her from behind.

He wouldn't. Not to her. She got him custody of his daughter. She went out a window for him. She's kept Blair at bay. She is his only ally in his war against the world, and against himself. He wouldn't.

She flashes on Marty again, and Carol Swift and Nora and Blair...and how many more? How many of them once thought they were special?

A fresh wave of adrenaline courses through her as she feels his ragged breath on her cheek.

_Would he...?_

She doesn't allow the thought to coalesce. Whatever his intentions, she's done. She suddenly lifts her foot and stomps down on his toes with her stiletto. She hears a satisfying howl, and he loosens his grip enough that she almost twists away, but he regroups, drives her face-first into a brick wall, and grunts in pain as the hand covering her mouth takes the brunt of the impact. He flattens her against the wall with his body, crushing her in his arms until she can't breathe, kicks off her shoes, and shoves her legs far apart with his own.

'You'll pay for that,' he growls. She feels the tickle of his whiskers and he slowly licks her cheek, leaving a wet trail that turns icy. She squirms and he bites down hard on her ear until she cries out.

'Scared yet?' His growl has become a purr, and he parts his fingers again for her answer.

_'Hijo de puta,'_ she spits.

He clamps his hand back over her mouth and his laugh is high-pitched and ugly.

'I'd say that was about 5 percent scared, 95 percent pissed.'

He shifts, pinning her differently but no less effectively, and she feels him unbutton her coat and lay his palm flat against the thin material over her belly.

'Okay, then...what if I do this?' She gasps and goes rigid as his hand begins to slide down her torso.

'Hmmm, could that be fear?' His voice is serenity laced with malice. 'What's the matter, buttercup, don'tcha trust me?' Her blood turns to ice as she feels his palm reach her pubic bone.

_Not to me, not to me—_

'I could do anything to you right now,' he says, his hand lightly cupping between her legs. 'Anything at all.'

She struggles, tries to scream, but she's trapped. Helpless, for maybe the first time in her adult life.

'I could bend you over these crates here and fuck you. I could even fuck you in the ass. Is that what you're after, Delgado? Would that shut you up? Would that make you play by the rules?' His voice has grown raspy, strangled, and she realizes with cold shock that he is aroused.

He thrusts against her, groans, and she can feel him, thick and hard through the layers of their clothing.

'I'm bigger, I'm stronger, and you couldn't stop me.'

Her mouth aches from the pressure of his hand. His knees are pressed into the back of hers, keeping her legs wide apart, and he thrusts again. His breathing is ragged and she's acutely aware of the liquid heat of it against her ear, and of his hand poised like a weapon over her vulva. She begins trembling violently.

'Oh, there now, finally,' he whispers. 'That's good, that's good.'

He presses his hand up between her legs, rocks roughly against her from behind. The hand on her mouth relaxes momentarily and she gasps, 'Please Todd...'

But she finally knows it's useless. Her mind replays the dozens of now-glaring warning signs, but more importantly the hundreds of small moments between them that should have made _this_ moment impossible. And suddenly, worse than the fear is the shattering sense of betrayal.

As the first tears slide down her cheeks, he shifts and presses his forehead next to hers against the rough brick wall. She can feel him, vibrating, coiled to strike, his breathing erratic. She will not allow this. She will _not_. He is whispering something, but she can't bear to listen. His hand is hot between her legs.

As her mind spins out escape scenarios, she realizes that he's repeating something like a mantra, and she finally tunes in.

'Now do you understand, Delgado? Do you?'

Comprehension and relief flood her.

Not a lame attempt. Not lame at all. Quite effective, actually. He drops his hand from her mouth.

'Yes,' she gasps. 'Yes, you mother fucker.'

He releases her abruptly and shoves himself away from her body, leaving her to collapse against the wall, just as the Saint James church bell tolls midnight.

'Happy New Year, Delgado,' he says.

And then she's alone.


	4. Chapter 4

It's been years since Todd let that thing out, and now he is shaken to the core. He had forgotten how it felt—the rush of power, the cruelty. He'd enjoyed her terror. More than enjoyed it, he'd almost gotten off on it. There isn't enough booze in the world to erase that knowledge, and since there's no place he can hide, he just goes home.

He doesn't expect to see Delgado again. He'd left her in a traumatized heap on the ground; there are no happy reunions after that, but that was the point. He enters the penthouse in a daze, closes the door behind him, lets his body collapse on the floor in the foyer. It's as good a place as any for him. He curls into a ball.

He wants to sleep, can't sleep. Too many monsters when he sleeps. Too many monsters when he's awake.

_Delgado._

Well, he'd wanted to make her tremble and scream and beg. He got his wish.

His big toe is killing him—she got him good with that stiletto. He was proud of her for that. Part of him wanted to rape the shit out of her for it, too, but mostly proud. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles, feels a sting, sees blood, stares for a moment. Right, he'd protected Delgado's face when he threw her against that brick wall. He's quite a guy. He doesn't want tears, but can't help himself, and he cries until he's empty.

The next day he sends Shorty to Viki's. He calls Briggs at the paper, tells him to run some feel-good shit about newborns and puppies on the front page, tells him to spread the word that he's to be left the hell alone—that his Plague is acting up. It's the god's-honest truth.

On the fourth day of the new year he's prone on the couch surrounded by empties of all kinds. He's driving away a fitful dream of gentle arms around him, of peace, when he hears a key in the lock. He wants to vomit.

She's beautiful, as always. Hair perfect, make-up perfect, wearing a light blue suit that makes her skin shine like gold. Beyond that, he can't look at her, and rolls toward the back of the couch.

'Viki tells me you have The Plague,' she says. Her voice is soft, but feels like razors under his skin.

'Go away.'

'Starr misses her daddy.'

'Go away, Delgado.'

'Viki says—'

He rears up, yelling.

'I don't _care_ what Viki says, I don't give a _shit_ what Viki says, Viki can go to hell!' He knows that he looks manic, crazed, with wild, unwashed hair, four-day-old clothes, snot and tears crusting his face. Just wearing the inside on the outside to warn _the trusting_, as it should be.

'And you _can't_ be here to help me, because that's just too sick, even for you.'

She approaches carefully, like he's a wounded, feral animal, and what is that..._compassion_ on her face?

'No no no,' he cries, scrambling over the back of the couch and away from her. 'Oh my God, you can't, you can't. Get out of here,' he says, stalking the room, clawing his hair.

'Todd, I get it,' she says. Her eyes are warm and savage with forgiveness. 'I'm still shaken up, but I understand. Viki—'

'Fuck Viki!' He roars. 'She thinks she's inside my head, thinks she has me shrunk, but she doesn't understand shit, and you don't understand shit, Delgado! Another thrust and I would have come, that's how much I liked it. Do you and Viki understand _that_?'

He sees her flinch and swallow hard.

'Makes you wanna puke, right? Makes _me_ wanna puke. That's what _I_ am, Delgado, can't you see?'

Téa takes a few moments to compose herself, like she's about to present a summation.

'I don't believe that to be true, Todd,' she says, with a steady, rehearsed cadence. 'If that's indeed what you are, all you are, you wouldn't have stopped, and you wouldn't be torturing yourself like this. I believe, in your own, admittedly _twisted_ way, you were trying to teach me a lesson.'

He spins in place, gesticulating wildly, feeling on the verge of hysteria.

'Did _nothing_ get through to you, Delgado? Do I actually have to _rape_ you? Yeah, it started out as a warning, and look what it turned into! I was just barely able to stop. What if I was angry or wanted to punish you—do you think I could stop then? 'Cuz I sure as hell don't!'

She stands there looking at him, brow furrowed, less sure of herself now. He seems to be getting through to her, so he pushes.

'Remember how you felt, Delgado. Do you really want to feel that again? Or worse?'

'No,' she says quietly. 'But you obviously feel terrible, Todd—'

'Of course I feel terrible, but it doesn't matter how I feel afterwards. The point is, I can't control it when it's happening, do you get that?'

'But you _did_ control it.'

'This time, barely, because I was trying to wake you up. Don't let there be a next time, Delgado.'

Téa sits down heavily in a chair.

'No!' Todd says frantically. 'No sitting. Packing, leaving, that's what happens now, not sitting.'

'Just...please give me a minute, Todd.' She drops her head into her hands.

'A minute for what? To come up with another stupid justification—look, don't be a martyr here, Delgado, I'm not worth it.'

'No? A lot of people would say you're wrong.'

'Idiots.'

'Viki is an idiot?'

'My sister has a blind spot. Orphans and rapists—that's her thing.'

'Sarah, CJ—'

'Kids.'

'Kids are smart about people, Todd.'

'Not these kids. You're forgetting Tina's their mother.'

'Jessica—'

'Only likes me for my bird.'

'Blair?'

"Blair's crazy, you said so yourself.'

'What about Starr?'

"Shorty doesn't know any better. Besides, she's genetically programmed to put up with me.'

'You just have an answer for everything, don't you.'

'I do.'

'Well, what about me?'

'What about you?'

'_I_ think you're worth it.'

'Well, that's just...,' he begins pacing again. 'That's some kind of character flaw, the way I see it, Delgado. You have this...this messiah-complex thing going or whatever, and you're fixated on me, but you know what? It's not my problem. You just take your money and, hey!' He extends his hands like a salesman making the world's best offer. 'I'll even throw in an extra million if you get the hell out of here _right_ now.'

He turns away. 'I mean it. Get out. You should never have come back here. You just—,' his voice breaks and he stops.

He hears movement as Téa rises slowly from the chair.

'Just what, Todd?' She says gently.

He's silent.

'Todd?'

'You make me wanna blow my brains out.'

He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but maybe now she'll see how painful her presence is and leave him alone. She's quiet for so long he thinks that maybe she's slipped out and as he turns his head to check, he hears something that makes him double over like he's been gut-shot.

'I'm sorry.'

She's standing inches from him with tears in her eyes.

'You're _sorry_? _You're_ sorry?' He wheels on her, brings his hands up as if to choke some sense into her. 'Delgado, what the hell do you have to be sorry about?'

The answer is obvious. It's right there, in his tormented eyes, in the self-loathing that emanates from him like a haze, distorting the view of anyone who might want to really see him.

'I'm sorry for what it's cost you to make me understand.'

He stares at her and drops his hands. He has a sense that she's doing that thing with language that she does, to avoid telling the whole truth.

He narrows his eyes at her. 'Understand what, exactly?'

She seems to want to hedge, opens and closes her mouth, then says, 'Understand how you see yourself.'

He slumps and moves away from her, tears stinging his eyes. 'It's not just how I see myself, Delgado. It's the truth,' he says, feeling as sad as he's ever felt in his life. 'It was all for nothing then.'

'Todd—'

He can't do this anymore. He mounts the stairs. 'Damn, I stink. I gotta take a shower,' he says, his voice flat, lifeless. 'Don't be here when I come down.'

And he can imagine it—longs for it—the moment she really is gone from his life, and there's no trace of her left to remind him, to shame him, to connect him to humanity. No kind, strong, luminous woman to give him the hideous idea that there may be hope for him, and he can finally stop trying. His sense of relief at the thought is matched only by his sorrow.

Her voice is firm when she speaks and it jars him. 'You're wrong, Todd. Not for nothing.'

He stops on the stairs and grips the railing, bracing for more horror.

She is looking up at him through her lashes as she has countless times before, but now she's not teasing or flirting. In his exhaustion, he allows himself to really see her for the first time that day, and it's instantly obvious to him that something has changed. With sick satisfaction, he knows what it is even before she says it.

'I'll never trust you again.'

And there. Suddenly the sun comes out and it's his best day ever.

_To be continued..._


End file.
